darkdreamer | Update on a story, and update on my life :P

Hey, all :)

I'm making this post from the plasma donation place I frequent, and fortunately I can get an internet connection from the place next door whenever I'm here -- but unfortunately, for some reason, that connection never lets me sign into messenger :( Tam, I miss you! :( *cries* I still have no cable connection at my house, so no internet there, but I've managed to grab a few minutes here and there at other places -- a friend's house, here at the plasma place, a restaurant the other night -- but not enough or at the right times to actually be able to talk to anyone :(

*sigh*

But, all is well, and the power's back on, and things seem to be recovering here... Shouldn't be long before our cable is fixed, but it's understandably not a priority with nearly 100,000 people out of power and 50% of the roads impassable, you know? Naturally -- and quite rightly -- people's ability to watch TV and surf the net would *kinda* be not at the top of the list :P

Anyways, I've got an update for you here for Used, for those of you reading it :) Hope you enjoy it, please let me know :) I'll be checking emails from my phone, and your kind feedback will be a very nice pick-me-up, given the current situation :)

*hugs*
DoS

Title: Used
Beta:

misanthropicobs
Rating: R
Pairing: House/Wilson/Cuddy friendship, slight Wilson/OFC
Warnings: implied and explicit non-con, violence and non-con of a flashback/memory sort, mild language, general angst and trauma and darkness
Summary: One night leaving the hospital, a violent attack leaves House devastated and broken. In the aftermath, Wilson and Cuddy struggle to find a way to help him heal -- while House fights just to find a way to survive.

Chapter 66
Bargaining

“Okay… slow down and tell me again exactly how this happened…”

Wilson let out a heavy sigh of frustration, letting his head fall back to rest against the cool, white pillow behind him. He rolled his eyes before shutting them tightly against the too-bright lighting of the hospital room he had occupied for the past few hours.

“I’ve told you the story a dozen times already,” he reminded the calm, overly polite FBI agent who was still questioning him about his encounter with Tritter instead of doing anything that appeared to be even remotely helpful. “How is telling it again going to help you find my friend? I told you – they’re headed for Mexico. You need to have roadblocks at all the most likely routes…”

“We’ve got that under control, Dr. Wilson,” the agent interrupted him with a sort of patronizing, false patience that grated on Wilson’s already frayed nerves. “We’re doing all we can to ensure that Tritter doesn’t escape across the border…” He paused, looking away, and Wilson turned his head away with a visible wince, reading in the man’s expression the words he’d tactfully left unsaid.

If he hasn’t crossed the border already…

“How did he get away in the first place?” Wilson snapped, the cold knot of fear in his stomach expressing itself in a trembling tone of frustrated fury. “How did he get out of prison? House thought he was safe! After everything he went through… the… the nightmare of that trial… only to find out that it did him no good whatsoever… Tritter was still able to get to him!”

“We’re investigating that as well, Dr. Wilson. We’re looking into the prison staff on duty at the presumed time of Tritter’s escape. It appears that he managed to either bribe or coerce one of the guards at the time into assisting him in his escape…”

“Yeah, and no one even guessed that anything was wrong until we had to call and suggest that maybe you should check it out – at least 24 hours after his escape!”

“… but right now…” The agent’s voice was severe, authoritative, as he persisted. “I’m sure you’d agree that our priority is to find Tritter himself – and your friend, Dr. House.”

Wilson’s anger withered under the man’s quietly challenging stare, and he looked away again with a heavy sigh of defeat.

“We need you to be as cooperative as possible with this investigation – to give us every detail that you can possibly remember. It might give us some idea as to exactly where he was headed, and therefore the most likely route he would have taken. If we can find a way to trace his steps, we’ll be more likely to find your friend…”

Wilson took no comfort or hope from the FBI agent’s carefully phrased words. He heard in the man’s tone the unpleasant assumptions he had already reached, and shuddered as he tried not to allow his mind to go there.

If he’s even still alive… if Tritter hasn’t killed him already. They want to trace his steps, to find House – but they’re expecting to find his body, not to find him alive…

Suddenly, Wilson felt utterly exhausted, as if he couldn’t even find the strength to raise his head again. He couldn’t stand to tell the story again, to describe the way Tritter had tormented and humiliated his friend, terrorizing him until he had submitted to the worst fate imaginable, in order to save the lives of Wilson and Cuddy. The idea of recounting the events of the night before made him feel sick to his stomach. His head ached, filled with a fuzzy, hot sensation, as he shook his head without opening his eyes.

“I… I can’t… can’t do this anymore right now…”

“All right, Dr. Wilson needs to rest now.”

Wilson glanced toward the doorway, relieved to see Foreman standing in the doorway.

Jenna had come by the apartment the morning after Tritter had taken House, concerned after calling the hospital and being told that Wilson, House, and Cuddy had not shown up for work that morning, and hadn’t called, either. She had immediately called for help when she found Wilson and Cuddy unconscious, and Foreman had happened to be working in the clinic when they were brought in.

With Cuddy, House, and Wilson all out of commission for the moment, he had naturally stepped in and assumed responsibility for Wilson’s and Cuddy’s treatment. Their tox screens revealed the morphine with which they had been dosed – and filled House’s worried team with mingled relief and dread.

Wilson and Cuddy would be fine – but with House missing, and the manner in which they had been found, there was only one conclusion which they could reach.

Foreman had called the authorities, suggesting immediately that they question Tritter and find out if he had anything to do with House’s disappearance. At that point, the idea that the former detective had escaped had not even crossed his mind; he simply thought that some of Tritter’s criminal connections might have been responsible.

It was when the guards went to Tritter’s cell to take him to a holding room for questioning that they discovered he was missing. Immediately, the missing persons investigation became an official kidnapping investigation, and the FBI was called in.

The problem was that the only witnesses to what had occurred were still unconscious.

And now, it doesn’t matter how much we tell them – how many times we tell them – it’s too late. It was too late already when we woke up.

Wilson’s chest ached, and he closed his eyes against the despairing tears that burned behind them as Foreman coolly and politely ushered the FBI agent from the room.

The only one who can save House now – is House.

*****************************

“Wake up… I’ve got a surprise for you…”

Tritter’s voice of softly mocking menace, his sickeningly gentle hands trailing over House’s body, drew him from sleep with a rush of panic. His stomach lurched as Tritter’s hands slipped down his sides, dangerously close to the concealed pistol in his jacket pocket, and House remembered all at once where he was, what had happened, and how thoroughly helpless he was at the moment.

Wait… surprise?

House fought back a surge of panic at the horrible thought that Tritter might have found the gun already, and intended to punish House for his attempted rebellion. He knew that if that was the case, then said punishment would be the least of his concerns.

When House felt one of Tritter’s hands leave his side, and a moment later, cold steel against his temple, he closed his eyes, swallowing hard as he flinched at the contact and hoped against hope that it was Tritter’s gun, and not his own, that was being held to his head.

If Tritter had the gun, then his last chance had passed.

“Now if I take the tape off your mouth… you’re not going to scream, are you, House? You know better than that… don’t you?”

House nodded, not opening his eyes, his mouth dry with terror, as he struggled to control his breathing, struggled not to let his visible fear betray him, on the off chance that Tritter had not yet discovered his secret weapon. He winced as Tritter roughly ripped the tape from his mouth, but dutifully kept silent, not daring to make a sound.

“Good boy,” Tritter murmured, trailing the gun down House’s cheek in a chilling imitation of a tender caress. “That’s good, House. You just keep quiet and do as you’re told… and I’ll try not to make this hurt any worse than it’s already going to.”

Tritter’s hands moved to the front of House’s jeans, deftly unfastening the button and pulling his zipper down, and House fought back a sick wave of revulsion. He shook his head in helpless despair, well aware that there was nothing he could do to stop Tritter from doing whatever he wanted to do to him.

“Do not fight me, House,” Tritter muttered a cold warning. “You just remember… you’re mine now, and you’ll do as you’re told.”

House was surprised and relieved when Tritter’s hands left his jeans and moved to unfasten the handcuffs that held him to the headboard of the bed – and even more relieved when as he cautiously lowered his arms, he felt the reassuring weight of the pistol inside his jacket, and knew that Tritter had not yet found him out. However, his momentary relief vanished as Tritter’s hard hands found his hips again and roughly tried to turn him over.

Fighting off panic, House could not keep his hands from moving to Tritter’s arms in a hesitant, pleading gesture. He met Tritter’s eyes, his own wide and desperate, as he shook his head rapidly, his voice trembling with dread as he whispered a frantic plea.

“No… no, p-please… please, don’t…”

Tritter’s expression was uncertain, shifting between anger at House’s resistance, however humble and submissive, and false sympathy – and finally settling into a condescending smile of patronizing patience.

“House… you know you don’t have a choice here, don’t you? This is going to happen.” Tritter’s smile shifted into a cruel smirk as he added, “Again and again… for the rest of your life…”

“I know,” House whispered, nodding hurriedly, his thoughts racing. “I… I know, I just… it’s just that…” As he spoke, House slid his hand hesitantly up Tritter’s arm in a touch that was subtly suggestive. “… maybe it could wait. Maybe there’s… something else I could do… right now.”

Angry and alarmed at the unexpectedly enticing touch, Tritter grasped House’s wrist in a crushing grip, forcing his arm down across his chest and pinning it there so hard that House winced at the painful pressure of the hidden gun between his arm and his chest. Tritter drew back his free hand, clenched into a fist and ready to strike out across House’s face, in a blow intended to remind him of his place and show him what would happen if he touched his new master without permission.

Before the blow could fall, House’s free hand shot out as well – finding an unlikely target, with startling purpose.

Tritter gasped in stunned pleasure as he felt House’s hand cup the bulge in the front of his pants with a grip that was firm yet gentle, then stroke it lightly, drawing it to greater fullness of desire. Tritter bit back a groan of pleasure – then abruptly grabbed House’s wrist in a bruising, punishing grip and yanked it up to his chest as well, pinning both his arms with one hand, as his other hand clutched House’s throat. Tritter’s lips twisted in fury as he tightened his hold until House could not draw breath, pressing his thumb brutally into the hollow of House’s throat relentlessly as his captive gasped uselessly for the breath Tritter’s grip denied him.

“What do you think you’re doing, House?” Tritter demanded, teeth clenched in angry accusation. “Huh? What are you trying to pull?”

At last, Tritter eased his grip, giving House a moment to draw in several desperate, gulping draughts of much-needed air, before returning his hand to House’s throat in a much looser grip that still served as a very effective warning.

“Answer me, House.” Tritter’s voice was warning. “What are you up to, huh? What do you think you’re going to accomplish by trying to play me like that?”

“N-nothing,” House whispered, his voice raspy from Tritter’s assault on his throat. “I-I wasn’t. I just… just wanted to… to thank you for… for sparing… my friends…” He looked up to meet Tritter’s eyes, giving a weak little half-shrug as he added with stark honesty, “That, and… and I was hoping… to maybe… satisfy you with… a little less than what you were going for.”

Tritter stared at him, understanding gradually dawning in his eyes – and then burst into smug, raucous laughter that faded into a cold sneer of satisfaction.

“You know,” he murmured in a low, suggestive voice that send a shudder of disgust and terror down House’s spine. “I think it’s great… how hard you’re trying to get out of this… how terrified you are of my touching you…” He drew his hand slowly down House’s cheek, smiling as House flinched away from his touch. “… and I love… how willing you are to please me… what an eager little slut you are, House…”

Tritter straightened, looking speculatively down at House’s trembling form pinned beneath him – his chest heaving with his desperate gasps for breath, the convulsive swallow in his throat as he closed his eyes and turned his head away in shame – then spoke again in a decisive tone.

“Yeah. I think I’ll give you a chance.”

Tritter rose off of House, and as his weight was removed from House’s body, brushing accidentally against his throbbing leg as he moved, House remembered that it had been over a day and a half since his last Vicodin. The thought filled him with a desperate longing that threatened to steal his focus, to swallow up the half-formed plan rising in his mind – and he fought it back, forcing himself to think only of the task ahead of him, and what he was going to have to do to save his own life.

Tritter stood beside the bed, arms crossed imperiously as he fixed House with a cold stare.

“Get up… and get on your knees.”